The polo shirt, that classic garment upon which men rely for a sweltering summer Friday at the office, has its place in politics: Usually, it's embroidered with some poorly-designed campaign logo, at the chest, then sold as a fundraising chotzke on candidate websites — the modern equivalent of a '70s-era bumper sticker.

Typically, politicians themselves don't wear these clothes. Summer campaign season seems to mandate that you must wear an oversized dress shirt — preferably one in tattersall or gingham — and that you should roll the sleeves sloppily until they rest in their weird territory between the crook of your elbow (where they belong if they are, indeed, rolled) and your wrist (where they rest when untangled). If we're in a particularly sartorial campaign cycle — which we're definitely not right now, given America's current populist imperatives — then the men and women running for office may even put on a jacket (particularly, in Sarah Palin's case, if the campaign will bankroll said jackets).

There have been just a few notable occasions in recent years when be-polo'd politicians have been photographed: Barack Obama, when he's on the golf course; and Joe Biden, in a Ralph Lauren rendition, during an errant rally in 2008, when people noticed how hairy his arms were.

But these moments are nothing compared to the pivot Ryan has made, when he swapped out oversized suits with Frankenstein shoulders for a simple, striped polo shirt that looks like it came from J.Crew. He's been wearing the same one for going on a week now, immediately following the week that nearly everyone was hating on those sad black suits he owns. (As an aside: I use the word owns out of obligation, as these suits felt like the clothes you might rent before your brother's wedding in Saskatchewan). In contrast, the polo shirt — even when he isn't glad-handing and holding babies — transforms Ryan into a proud dad with a good job on a regular Saturday. Unlike the tailoring, here's clothing that makes him seem relatable and comfortable and reliable, like a neighbor that you knew well before he just up and got into the presidential race. Imagine that.

If you're on Twitter, you might be very familiar with something called the "humblebrag" — when something awesome happens to someone, and they try to downplay it while, at the same time, sharing the news (requisite Kardashian example: "I still can't believe I have a Cosmo cover!"). In a way, that's exactly what this shirt does for Ryan: It shows us that he's just a normal guy. A normal guy who, if you notice his forearms, happens to be totally shredded. Shirts like these first came from the athletic world: They're items that have allowed tennis stars, golf heroes, and those men who ride horses the opportunity to have excellent mobility, all while wearing breathable cotton that reminds us, still, that they're impossibly in shape.

We respect athletes, as a culture. And, as guys who go out and buy ourselves clothes at one time or another, we all enjoy the simplicity and ease that comes with the right polo shirt. That's what makes this such a smart move for Ryan. All in one shirt, he's found a way to connect with voters while also satisfying those who are obsessed with his P90X routine. He's giving and taking at the same time. And, were he to swap out those terrible chinos and untuck his shirt, he'd also be one step away from looking like the Midwest version of a clean-cut Kennedy. He'd hate that, of course, but I wouldn't mind.